


Mystrade Prompt Drabbles and Ficlets

by Xedra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xedra/pseuds/Xedra
Summary: What is says on the tin.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> Drabbles and Ficelets that I've written for the word prompts given in the FB group Mystrade is our Division : Fanfiction Writers and Readers - I'm just putting them all here for convenience.  
> Each chapter will be a different drabble, anywhere from 100 to 500 words in length.  
> The title is the prompt word.  
> All are stand-alones, unless otherwise specified.  
> Enjoy!

At the inauspicious hour of 3:33 am on a wet and blustery Sunday morning, Greg and Mycroft were woken by the call they had been waiting 40 long weeks to receive.

Their surrogate had gone into labor and was presently being whisked by a security detail to a private and secure birthing facility.

The men shared a look of shock that melted into pure exhilaration as they scrambled out of bed to throw on clothing and grab the go bags that have been waiting by the door for the past month. A sleek black car met them as they raced out of the house.

14 hours later they were presented with the most exquisite creature that ever drew breath, wrapped in a pale pink blanket.

Madeline Elizabeth Lestrade-Holmes lay cradled in her daddy Greg's arms, suckling from a bottle of freshly expressed breast milk, her tiny brow wrinkled and furrowed in what could best be described as extreme annoyance.

Greg was enchanted. He could not take his eyes off her. She was perfect in every way, from the fluff of brown curls on her head to the minuscule nails on her tiny toes.

He had not heard Mycroft ask if he wanted coffee, had not felt the kiss pressed to his temple and had no idea his husband had left the room. He was utterly absorbed in the way a small pink hand was gripping his thumb.

It was true Mycroft needed coffee, and indeed Anthea was on her way back from a nearby coffee shop with something fresh and infinitely more palatable what they served in the cafeteria, but the real reason he had left his husband and daughter's side was he desperately needed a moment.

He needed a moment to collect his thoughts. He needed a moment to catch his breath.

He needed a moment to try and keep the fullness of his heart from flowing out of his eyes.

He had thought he'd known love, thought he'd known fear; he'd thought his life complete the day he married Gregory.

The moment the nurse had placed that baby girl in his arms, he'd felt all of those things to a degree he never thought possible. Barely six minutes old and already the bright center of his universe.

To see Gregory holding her, so blissfully absorbed in her every movement was precious beyond words. His precious family.

Mycroft was just about to turn around and return to their room when he spotted the open door of the hospital chapel. After a moment's hesitation he walked inside.

The room was dimly lit by tasteful sconces along the walls. Three pews sat in front of a modest altar, back-lit by a large stained glass panel depicting a white dove against a blue sky.

Mycroft had never believed in God, and he didn't now, but he could only close his eyes and whisper a heartfelt "Thank you" to whomever may be listening for this blessed day.


	2. Time

Mycroft studied his reflection in the mirror with a careful eye. 

He tugged at the waistcoat of his morning suit, shot his cuffs, flicked non-existent dust from the shoulders, and adjusted his tie a millimeter to the right for the fifth time. 

He sighed and turned away to pace the small room once more. Back and forth and back and forth, over and over, trying and failing to still his frenzied mind. 

A knock at the door froze him in his tracks.

"Mycroft? It's time."

The door opened with a slight creak to admit his brother and Best Man.

Sherlock looked him over briefly as he stepped near and tutted, reaching up to shift Mycroft's tie one millimeter to the left.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and sighed inwardly but accepted the adjustment.

Sherlock then produced an elegant boutonniere of white heather from his pocket and pinned it to the lapel of Mycroft's jacket.

They stood silently for a long moment, regarding each other, then Sherlock meaningfully cleared his throat.

"Aside from my John, Lestrade is the best man I know. You are very lucky, brother mine."

Since Mycroft agreed wholeheartedly with this statement, he made no comment. Indeed, he would not have been able to force any words past the sudden lump in his throat. 

The urge to face the mirror again and scrutinize his appearance was almost overwhelming, but before he could move away, he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly.

"And so is he."

His mind came to an abrupt halt, stunned into stillness. 

He then pulled his brother into a fierce hug, and was warmed down to his bones when he felt the embrace returned.

"Alright, enough sentiment," Sherlock mock-grumbled, stepping away. "Come now, you can't be late for your own wedding."

Mycroft felt the tension drain from his shoulders and his eyes beamed with gratitude. 

He tugged one final time at his waistcoat and gestured at the door. "Lead the way, brother mine."


End file.
